Princess Magnificent
by Emerald Viper
Summary: Pulled out of the River Styx by a strange old man who calls himself "Ribbon", a woman with no memories of her past tries to find a way back to the world of the living. Who is she? How did she die? Will she complete her unfinished business, or will she spend eternity enslaved by a monster with lips of coral and robes of black feathers?
1. Chapter 1 - Catfish

**Princess Magnificent**

**Chapter 1 - Catfish**

"You awake, Catfish?" A man's voice demanded. Something pushed my shoulder, and I slowly came to my senses. It was too dark to see much, but a campfire was crackling about ten feet away, and I could smell the smoke. It was unusually harsh and acrid. I couldn't tell exactly what was burning, but it smelled like some kind of marsh plant.

The stench made me cough, and the man who'd been poking me took a step back.

I groaned and slowly rolled over. I'd been drug for awhile, at least judging by the quantity of mud on my clothes. My rescuer had left me lying on damp, rocky ground, propped up just a little. I was soaking wet, and the air was bone cold.

The man who'd been trying to wake me pointed a stout hickory club at my face. He was old, with only a few teeth left in his head, and skin like saddle leather. He was dressed in a rags and he smelled like he hadn't bathed in months. One of his eyes didn't focus, and the other was gray and obviously sightless. The thing that caught my attention, however, was a red silk ribbon tied around his wrist. It was a very pretty thing, and stood out in stark contrast to his wretched appearance.

"No funny business," the old man warned.

I coughed. My throat was raw, which made talking difficult, but I held up my hand and hoped that the old man would be patient with me. He brought me a waterskin, and I drank it down as fast as I could. It tasted like ash, and sat in my stomach like lead.

The old man laughed. "Heh. Does that help?"

"Not exactly," I confessed. I wanted to ask him what had happened to me, but I was troubled by how little I remembered myself. I tried to sit up, by my limbs felt weak. I finally managed to pull myself to my knees. My head swam, and I immediately retched.

There wasn't anything of consequence in my stomach, but there was a lot more water than I'd just drank. I suspected that I'd nearly drowned. It seemed plausible, although I didn't remember being on a sea voyage. When I considered that, I realized that I didn't remember much of anything.

Where was I?

_Who _was I?

I studied my clothing. It was simple and serviceable, mostly brown, and obviously designed for fighting. I wasn't wearing a much armor, but I did have a pair of scuffed steel vanbraces on my wrists and a beat-up gorget around my neck. I looked like a soldier, but I didn't feel comfortable. I immediately suspected that I was wearing a disguise of some kind. Still, playing the part of a soldier gave me something to go on.

"Catfish?" The old man pressed.

Although it felt distinctly unfamiliar, I didn't balk at the name that the old man gave me. Any name was better than no name at all.

"I'm all right," I nodded. "Just... a little disoriented. What happened to me?"

The old man shrugged.

I sighed. A sharp prick on my neck caused me to jump.

"Ow, damnit!" I cursed, swatting at the insect. Whatever it was, I missed it.

"What's wrong?" The old man asked.

"Something bit me," I replied. I rubbed the spot, which was still sore. I could already tell it was going to swell up. "I think it was a spider."

"That's impossible," he said.

"It's impossible to find _bugs_ in a swamp?" I laughed slightly, mostly to relieve my own growing unease.

"This isn't a swamp," he informed me. "This is the Underworld. You're dead."

"You're lying," I protested, although he sounded quite serious. I realized slowly that I'd actually _expected_ to be dead, although I still couldn't recall the last thing that had happened to me.

"I am not. I took you from the River Styx myself. Saw you on the bottom, and pulled you out like a catfish," he replied.

I smiled slightly. A story like that gave a name some weight. Now it sounded like a soldier's nickname. I could be "Catfish", at least until I learned who I really was. Still, I was curious about my rescuer's motivation. Pulling someone out of the River Styx seemed like a dangerous thing to do.

"Not that I'm ungrateful... but why help me_?_" I asked. "There must be thousands of people in the River Styx."

"Millions," the old man corrected. "And more every day, what with all those wars up there in the Scavenger Lands."

He pointed to the sky, or at least what I thought was the sky. It was pitch black, and there were hardly any stars. Although I couldn't see more than four feet in any direction, I got the distinct impression that I wasn't missing anything. There wasn't a trace of grass or moss on the ground. I couldn't hear any of the usual nighttime sounds of insects and birds. There were some trees nearby, but they were all dead. And yet even in death, they weren't covered in lichens or mushrooms. A fungus would have been alive, and there was no life at all in the place I'd come to.

"This really is the Underworld, isn't it?" I observed.

"I told you so," the old man replied.

"Shit," I said. It seemed like an appropriate response.

For a moment, the old man didn't say anything. He gave me a look that seemed like pity, and I turned away from him. I didn't want anyone's pity. The only thing I was certain of was that I'd died for a reason. I hoped it had been a good one.

I heard the sound of a branch snapping nearby and my hand instinctively went for my hip. I discovered an empty scabbard, the right size and shape to hold a longsword. I was unarmed. I was not accustomed to being unarmed. Maybe I was a soldier?

The old man laughed, holding up two pieces of a stick. He'd made the noise on purpose, to gauge my reaction. When he saw me reach for the sword I didn't have, he produced a blade from the folds of his ragged cloak and handed it to me.

I studied my sword. It was a beautiful weapon, light and elegant. The steel carried an unusual golden sheen, and the hilt was set with a single large, luminous gemstone the color of the ocean. When I held it, I felt a sense of rightness. The armor I was wearing might not have been my own, but that sword belonged to me.

"That's how I found you," he confessed. "I saw it glittering on the bottom of the river, and I thought it might be worth money. But I see now that it's more than that. It's your fetter."

"What's a fetter?" I asked. I'd never heard of such a thing.

"When most people come to the Underworld, they become infected with a thing called _Lethe_. Lethe makes you forget who you were in the world of the living, bit by bit. Eventually, you wander off to the River Styx to get carried into Oblivion. From there, your soul goes on to its next life. But _you _don't. The person you _were_ ceases to exist," the old man explained.

As he got to talking, I realized that the old man was unusually sharp. Although he looked like a ragged beggar, he spoke like someone with an education. I wondered who he'd been in life. How had he died?

"A fetter is something that keeps you from moving on," he continued. "Usually, it's a small thing. A wedding ring. A bent nail. I've never seen anyone with a sword before. Whatever you were doing before you died must have been important."

He gestured to the ribbon tied around his wrist. "This is my fetter. It belonged to my daughter," he explained. "I don't know how old she is, or even if she lives. I can't tell you her name. To be honest, I don't know my own name either, but you can call me Ribbon. Everyone does."

I sheathed my sword and offered him my hand. "Well, thank you, Ribbon. I suppose I owe you my life, not that I actually have one. Is this all there is down here? Dead forests?"

Ribbon chuckled. "Of course not. I like coming out here for a little peace and quiet, that's all. We're not from Thousand," he explained. "The Underworld has cities and states, just as the world of the living does. This is the territory of the First and Forsaken Lion."

That name sounded familiar. I said nothing.

"The Lion is a Deathlord. One of the thirteen rulers of this realm. Thousand is his fortress," Ribbon advised. "It's more of a city than a fortress, really. About seven-hundred thousand souls. Mostly dead like us."

I nodded solemnly, still absorbing everything I'd been told. "So how do I get back to the world of the living?" I asked.

"You don't," Ribbon replied sharply. "We're a thousand miles from the nearest Shadowland. As a ghost, you_ could_ use a Shadowland to cross over, but sunrise would be the end of you. Unless you know _exactly _where you need to be, it's a rather worthless endeavor. The only other way I know of is to go over the falls and into Oblivion. And even then, _you w_on't go back. You'll just go onto your next life."

"Then what's the point of this fetter?" I demanded, gesturing to my sword. "How do I finish my unfinished business?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here!" Ribbon sighed. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Catfish. The Underworld is no place for heroes. Just getting by unnoticed is difficult enough. There are men down here who've forgotten how to be men, and _things _that never were mortal. Even if it doesn't accomplish anything, those of us who are still chained to the world of the living try to look out for one another," Ribbon explained. "It keeps us human."

I stared at my sword.

Although Ribbon seemed to believe it was impossible, I was not going to give up. I knew I needed to get back to the world of the living, and there had to be a way. My stomach turned an uncomfortable loop, and I thought I was about to throw up again.

"Is there food in the Underworld?" I asked. "I think a little bread would settle my stomach."

"It won't," Ribbon replied. "And you can drink all the water you want, but you'll still be thirsty. It's part of being dead. You'll get used to it."

"I doubt that. What about alcohol?" I asked.

"Well, it won't get you drunk," he said. "Nothing is any good here unlessit's left for you as an offering in the world of the living."

"An offering? You mean, like a little cup of wine or some rice cakes on a grave?"

"That's it," Ribbon nodded. "So should we find out if anyone loves you?"

"Sounds good to me," I agreed.

Ribbon offered me his club and heaved me to my feet.


	2. Chapter 2 - Offerings

**Chapter 2 – Offerings**

As Ribbon had described it, Thousand was both a fortress and a city. Surrounded by a massive stone wall, it somewhat resembled a prison. Half of the buildings were carved into the cliffs, and the streets were impossibly narrow. They snaked in all directions, and very few of them were marked with signs. There didn't seem to be any horses or other animals in the Underworld, but a rider would have struggled to navigate Thousand's streets. The place was like a rabbit warren for the dead and the damned. It smelled like an open tomb, baking in the midday sun.

The sun did not actually rise in the Underworld, but some hours after Ribbon and I left the river, the sky began to look a little gray. I realized that was what passed for daylight, and was reminded once again of where I was. I didn't like the idea of being permanently hungry and thirsty, but knowing that I wouldn't see the sun bothered me in a way that I couldn't express. It almost made me want to run back to the River Styx and jump in.

Like Ribbon, most of the ghosts roaming Thousand's streets were filthy and haggard-looking. Some of them had ugly wounds or awful poxes, which seemed to hint at how they'd met their end. I caught sight of my own reflection in the glass of a window. I looked paler than usual, and my hair was a mess... but I didn't look as "dead" as everyone else seemed to.

Was it because I was recently deceased, or was there another reason?

"Keep your head down," Ribbon advised. "If you walk around like you own this place, you're asking for trouble."

I nodded and continued following him.

We trudged up a steep hill. Above us was a palace of the same stone as Thousand's wall. It had four square towers. One tower was much taller than the others. I'd seen fires and lamps since arriving in the Underworld, but there was a bright light radiating from that tower's window that I could not find words to describe. I suspected magic, although I didn't know what drove me to that conclusion.

"That's the Lion's palace," Ribbon explained. "If you know what's good for you, you won't go anywhere near it."

"What's in that tower?" I pointed.

Ribbon stared up at the light just as I had, as if he could feel it beckoning him closer. He rubbed the ribbon on his wrist nervously, and turned to me. "The Princess," he said.

"A princess locked in a tower?" I smiled slightly. I liked stories. The more ridiculous they sounded, the more they amused me. "Shouldn't someone be rescuing her?"

"The Princess Magnificent is a Deathlord," Ribbon explained. "She did something wrong, even by Deathlord standards... and now the Lion is her keeper. It's probably best for the Underworld if she stays where she is."

"I see," I nodded.

We came to a stop in front of another ugly, squarish building with bronze doors.

"What is this place?" I asked. There was something about the place which felt familiar to me, a certain warmth that was missing from the rest of the Underworld.

"This is the Mausoleum," Ribbon explained. "It's where we get our offerings." He started to push the doors, and though I knew he wasn't as fragile as he looked, I still stepped in front of him.

"Let me help," I offered.

We both slipped inside. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the candlelight. As far as I could see in every direction, there were rows upon rows of tombstones. Some had offerings placed on them, but a great many were empty. I wasn't surprised. People did tend to forget the dead over time. Maybe the last members of their families had died off, or maybe they'd never had anyone to begin with.

Did I have a family? It seemed that I did, but I didn't feel a strong connection to them. There were important people in my life, I sensed that much... but we weren't related by blood. I wished I could remember more.

There were many ghosts inside the Mausoleum. Some were just sitting in silence on their graves, while others were eating or conversing with each other.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the ghost of a child tugging on the sleeves of a well-dressed merchant with a dagger in his back. I was too far away to hear their conversation, but the child seemed desperate, and the merchant eyed the little waif greedily.

"Catfish!" Ribbon hissed, poking me in the back with his club.

"I don't like that man," I said, my eyes still on the merchant.

"I don't blame you," Ribbon replied. "He's very unlikeable. That's Master Dagger. He _sells _offerings."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "I thought offerings were left for the dead by the living."

"They are," Ribbon nodded. "But think about this. How would you get an offering if it was left at your grave? You could travel there at night coming through a Shadowland, but that's a great big hassle. It also ensures that a lot of ghosts will be loitering around in the living world waiting for offerings, which is something no one down here wants. The Deathlords created Mausoleums to solve that problem. The offerings made to every ghost in a city appearin the Mausoleum. You get your offerings, and you stay in the Underworld where the Deathlords can keep their eyes on you. When you first walked through the gates of Thousand, anything left at your grave recently appeared here."

"What if I don't have a grave?" I asked. It seemed like a possibility.

"It doesn't matter if you have a grave in the world of the living. You can be remembered anywhere. A family shrine, a temple! If someone raises a mug of ale in your honor at a bar, you'll find a mug waiting for you here."

"That still doesn't explain how someone can sell offerings," I paused. The merchant ghost was still talking to the child, and I liked him even less as Ribbon explained the Underworld's strange economy to me.

"I was getting to that part," Ribbon replied. "You'd think with all these offerings appearing at the Mausoleum that it would be chaos. Any ghost could take another's offerings. Fortunately, it doesn't work that way. Only the ghost that the offerings are meant for can actually touch them while they're in the Mausoleum. If he takes them out into the Underworld, they become real and he can give them to anyone he wants. Otherwise, he can sit in here and enjoy them in peace." He gestured to the ghost of a woman who was sitting on her grave and very slowly eating a single rice cake.

"I see," I gritted my teeth slightly, my gaze drifting back to Master Dagger and the child ghost he was trying to take advantage of. The thought of someone stealingthe rice cakes left on achild's grave was absolutely intolerable to me. I almost drew my sword, but then I remembered where I was.

"Can you kill someone in the Underworld?" I asked.

Ribbon shook his head. "Not with a sword, if that's what you're wondering. There's nowhere to go from here, although I've heard that the Deathlords can push ghosts into Oblivion."

"I suppose that's a good reason to avoid them," I snorted. When I looked over my shoulder again, the boy and the merchant were gone. I felt helpless.

The more I learned about being dead, the more tempted I was to return to the river. Ribbon had said that ghosts eventually went to Oblivion of their own volition. Had I been trying to do that when he rescued me? The sword on my hip filled me with doubt. There _was _something I still had to do.

Ribbon led me down a flight of stairs into another part of the Mausoleum.

"This place is a lot bigger on the inside," I observed.

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet!" He motioned for me to follow him. Unlike the streets of Thousand, the halls of the Mausoleum were perfectly straight and marked with signs. Some signs had family names on them, while others described events such as "Shipwreck of The Elissa" or "Battle of Thorns".

"How am I supposed to find my grave?" I asked Ribbon. "I don't remember anything. Not my name, not how I died..."

"You'll sense your grave is when we get close to it," he replied. "Mine is over here."

The main hall narrowed and branched off in several directions. Another flight of stairs led down to a crowded little cemetery with many dusty graves. Ribbon came to a stop in front of one of the tombstones.

"There's no offering," I observed.

"There never is. No one remembers me," he shrugged, tugging on the ribbon around his wrist.

"I'm sorry," I said. It seemed like the thing to say.

"It's all right. I'm used to it," he replied. "Maybe you'll be luckier?" He suggested.

"If I do have anything, I'll share it with you," I told him. "So where do we go now?"

"We could try the Hall of Heroes," he replied. "See if you're entombed with the likes of Cathak and Alexander the Great."

"I don't think I'm a hero," I replied, although the last name he spoke did sound familiar to me. "And I really don't want to be drooling over something I can't have."

"Well, the Hall of Unknown Soldiers is on the other side of the Hall of Heroes. That might be a good place to look," he suggested.

I nodded in agreement. In the center of the main hall was a set of black marble stairs which lead down. Four guards stood on either side, watching everyone that headed down. I'd seen guards in similar black armor on the streets, but I'd never looked at them closely enough to realize what they were. One of the guards turned in my direction. His face was nothing but white bone, and his eyes were two sparks of red in empty sockets. Ribbon poked me with his club again and I kept walking, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

When we were out of their sight, I seized Ribbon's arm and pushed him into a corner.

"Were those _skeletons_?" I demanded.

"You are in the Underworld," he reminded me. "Most of the Lion's army is made up of ghosts, but he _is_ a necromancer. You'll see some other kinds of undead crawling around Thousand. Not often, mind you. And I've never seen the Lion's personal guard down here in the Mausoleum before. They're not interested in offerings. There must be something going on. But don't panic. If you panic, they'll assume you're the problem they've been sent to handle."

I shuddered at the thought.

The dark hallway that we'd entered opened into a large, well-lit room. There were monuments of all kinds, towering obelisks, and tombs with marble columns. Ghosts mulled around the graves of the heroes, which were piled high with flowers and food. There were entire bottles of wine and whole kegs of ale. I didn't see anyone taking anything. In fact, some of the fruit had been sitting so long that it had started to rot.

"Some of this fruit is going bad. Don't the heroes come get their offerings?" I wondered.

"I've never seen anyone visit these graves," Ribbon admitted. "I've heard it's because most heroes don't have unfinished business. They're resolute when they die, and they don't spend long in the Underworld before going on to Oblivion. But people never stop remembering them."

"It seems unfair," I admitted. The ghost of a man knelt on the ground in front of one of the graves. He was trying to grab an orange, but his hands passed through the fruit as if it wasn't even there. "There are so many people here who don't have anything. If these heroes aren't even in the Underworld, why are people still leaving them offerings?"

"When you were living, did you ever consider where the offerings you left went?" Ribbon asked.

"Well, no," I admitted.

"So why did you leave them?" He pressed. "You put a rice cake on a grave because the person buried there was important to you. You didn't expect them to actually eat it."

"I see your point," I paused. "But I still don't like it."

We continued walking, and the monuments became even more intimidating and spectacular. I noticed that there were fewer offerings, and some of the most beautiful graves were covered in dust.

"These are heroes graves too, aren't they?" I asked. "Where are their offerings?"

"It's been too long since they lived," Ribbon shrugged. "These heroes have been forgotten. Most of them, anyway."

He was looking at something, and my eyes followed his. Ahead of us was a magnificent tomb. It was carved of marble as white as snow and decorated with gold. A fountain filled with crystal clear water drew me closer. Surrounding it was an enormous pile of offerings. There were flowers, fruits, sweets, enough sticks of incense to make a fire visible from Heaven. There was also an awful lot of booze.

I smiled at that, imagining mugs and wineglasses clanking together all over Creation. That was _exactly_ how I wanted to be remembered.

Sitting next to the fountain with two peaches was a beautiful golden amulet on a silk cord. I knew I'd seen it before, and I couldn't stop myself from reaching for it. At first, my fingers passed right through it as I'd feared they might, but then I actually felt the metal. It was slightly warm, as if touched by magic, and very solid.

If everything Ribbon had told me was true, that could mean only one thing.

We'd found my grave.

All of sudden, the piles of offerings looked very intimidating. If this was my grave... who was I?

"Damnit, Catfish! Don't be an idiot!" He jerked my arm roughly and pointed in the direction of the armored skeletons. They'd noticed us approaching the tomb, and they were all watching us.

"You _know _you can't take those offerings!" Ribbon scolded, slapping me. "I already explained it to you! Look, we'll keep searching for your grave. We're bound to find it sooner or later."

He said that much louder than he needed to, and I realized that was because he wanted the skeletons to hear him. We continued down the hall into another sorry cemetery full of many empty graves. The skeletons passed us by, and Ribbon drug me by the sleeve of my shirt into an alcove behind a massive statue of a man on a horse.

"Do you think they're onto me?" I asked fearfully.

"That _was _your grave?" Ribbon swore incoherently.

I nodded, opening my hand to show him the amulet.

He swore again.

"This is bad. This is worse than you can imagine! The people down here have _names_! They have _power_! And if your grave is here with all of the forgotten heroes, that can only mean you've died before. You've been a hero in more than one lifetime! The Lion must be looking for you. He'll want you to serve him, and he'll promise you anything you want," Ribbon explained. "Even a way back to the world of the living."

"So why shouldn't I take his offer?" I demanded. The longer I stared at the offerings, the more I wanted them. It seemed like drinking that wine and eating the food would make me feel closer to who I was. Maybe I'd even remember the life I'd left behind.

"I said that the Lion would _promise _you a way back," Ribbon replied. "I didn't say that it would be worth the price." He pointed at the skeletal soldiers with his club. They were gathered around my grave, apparently trying to decide if anything had been disturbed.

The facesof the Lion's skeletal soldierswerealready burned into my mind, and I focused on them instead of the fountain and the piles of offerings. Ribbon was right. It would be better to go into Oblivion than spend eternity as one of the Lion's thralls. I desperately wanted to finish whatever it was that I'd set out to do, but there were lines I could not cross. I put the amulet I'd taken around my neck where it belonged and took comfort in its familiar warmth. Although Ribbon didn't say anything, I realized that the amulet was another fetter, just like my sword, something else that tied me to the world of the living.

If I was a hero, I had to do the right thing... and the right thing was never easy.

Still, it took all the willpower I had to turn away from my grave and follow Ribbon back out onto the streets of Thousand.


End file.
